Elissa eBook

the writer has ventured—­no easy task—­to
suggest incidents such as might have accompanied this
first extinction of the Phoenician Zimbabwe.
The pursuit indeed is one in which he can only hope
to fill the place of a humble pioneer, since it is
certain that in times to come the dead fortress-temples
of South Africa will occupy the pens of many generations
of the writers of romance who, as he hopes, may have
more ascertained facts to build upon than are available
to-day.

ELISSA

CHAPTER I

THE CARAVAN

The sun, which shone upon a day that was gathered
to the past some three thousand years ago, was setting
in full glory over the expanses of south-eastern Africa—­the
Libya of the ancients. Its last burning rays
fell upon a cavalcade of weary men, who, together with
long strings of camels, asses and oxen, after much
toil had struggled to the crest of a line of stony
hills, where they were halted to recover breath.
Before them lay a plain, clothed with sere yellow
grass—­for the season was winter—­and
bounded by mountains of no great height, upon whose
slopes stood the city which they had travelled far
to seek. It was the ancient city of Zimboe, whereof
the lonely ruins are known to us moderns as Zimbabwe.

At the sight of its flat-roofed houses of sun-dried
brick, set upon the side of the opposing hill, and
dominated by a huge circular building of dark stone,
the caravan raised a great shout of joy. It shouted
in several tongues, in the tongues of Phoenicia, of
Egypt, of the Hebrews, of Arabia, and of the coasts
of Africa, for all these peoples were represented
amongst its numbers. Well might the wanderers
cry out in their delight, seeing that at length, after
eight months of perilous travelling from the coast,
they beheld the walls of their city of rest, of the
golden Ophir of the Bible. Their company had started
from the eastern port, numbering fifteen hundred men,
besides women and children, and of those not more
than half were left alive. Once a savage tribe
had ambushed them, killing many. Once the pestilential
fever of the low lands had taken them so that they
died of it by scores. Twice also had they suffered
heavily through hunger and thirst, to say nothing of
their losses by the fangs of lions, crocodiles, and
other wild beasts which with the country swarmed.
Now their toils were over; and for six months, or
perhaps a year, they might rest and trade in the Great
City, enjoying its wealth, its flesh-pots, and the
unholy orgies which, among people of the Phoenician
race, were dignified by the name of the worship of
the gods of heaven.

Soon the clamour died away, and although no command
was given, the caravan started on at speed. All
weariness faded from the faces of the wayworn travellers,
even the very camels and asses, shrunk, as most of
them were, to mere skeletons, seemed to understand
that labour and blows were done with, and forgetting
their loads, shambled unurged down the stony path.
One man lingered, however. Clearly he was a person
of rank, for eight or ten attendants surrounded him.